A Second Chance

Chapter 1

(Thorin's P.O.V.)

Thorin slowly opened his eyes, and he could make out the blur of silver above him. Slowly, and after blinking a few times, his vision started to focus. He could make out intricate blocky designs on the ceiling. He sat there for a minute wondering how he got there. He had been talking to Bilbo, what happened? Had he passed out? Bilbo must have gotten help and he was once again in the halls of Erebor.

He slowly sat up, expecting to feel pain in his chest, but as he sat up quite effortlessly he realized he felt nothing there. Looking down, he was confused to not see bandages, any trace of a wound, or even a scar. Thorin remembered the orc blade going into his chest, was all of that a dream? Did they ever really go to the Lonely Mountain? This place was definitely not Erebor.

He lifted himself off of the stone table-like platform he had been lying on. And looking around he could see that he was standing in a great hall. The architecture was like nothing Thorin had ever seen. It was even grander, he thought, than Khazad-dum (Durin forgive him). The walls were a deep blue. They were tall, and they curved slightly where they met the ceiling, almost in an elven style. The floor was white marble with deep blue swirling about it like stirred coffee. There was an inexplicable beauty and peace to the place.

Thorin started to walk silently as possible down the long hallway past room after room. He was cautious even with the peaceful atmosphere, he has dealt with magic before. Walking past the fifth room, he heard the faint sound of a chirping bird past the ajar door. Guard down and overtaken by curiosity, he walked up to the door and knocked. The knock wasn't loud and metallic like he expected, it was more like wood. Strange, he thought and when there was no answer, he slowly opened the door to look in. The sun-drenched sky filled his eyes. Grimacing, he closed his eyes for a moment while they adjusted. Squinting now, he beheld rolling hills covered with grasses and dotted with trees. He glimpsed people walking or working in gardens going about everyday life.

He opened the door and stepped out onto the first stair, it was a simple wooden stair, yet still it filled his heart with thoughts of home. He walked down the remaining two and he now realized he was barefoot as he stood in the ticklish grass.The warmth of the sun was inviting, and he found himself wandering up a hill, the door now yards away.

Upon reaching the top of the hill, Thorin stepped onto the dirt and rock path that led from little door to little door. It was a homey place, he thought to himself. It reminded him of that dream with the hobbit and the quest.

He looked back down the hill, and he could still see the door. Walking for a little while wouldn't hurt, right? He roamed a little ways down the path past patches of flowers and green blades of grass. The little rocks crunched under his slow steps and they felt rough and scratchy, but it wasn't entirely an unwelcome feeling. He could espy winds rusting the passably short trees.

It started as a breeze, but then a heralding gust of wind blew across the dwarf's face and tugged through his hair. He heard the lush trees nearer to him creak, and branches snapped under the suddenly hot, dry wind. Panic flowered in his chest as much as it could if he were caught in a dream.

The winds kept growing stronger, but Thorin didn't have it in his heart to be anxious.

The ever-strengthening wind howled in his ears and stripped the trees of more than their leaves. Green blew all around him, and Thorin just barely dodged a branch that had its course straight for his face.

The wind dragged the clouds high above the scene into the sun and a shadow fell over the landscape. Even though he knew how much fear this should bring him, he couldn't bring himself to be afraid, his mind was still clouded by the original peace and the affect it left. He forced himself to act against the tranquility that had infiltrated his thoughts.

He turned back towards the door and sprinted. The gravel bit at his soles, but this only helped with his internal rebellion and enticed him to move faster.

The great cloud seemed to stare at Thorin as he sprinted the couple of yards to the door.

The leaves still blew about frantically in their trajectory. Branches crashing about the hills propelled by the fierce wind.

The sun seemed to peak over the cloud, but it's rays spewed past the cloud like a great fountain and burned into the hills. It hit the ground like the dragon's fire in his dream. Thorin was about convinced this dream wasn't entirely false.

He was frozen at the door by the immensity of the sight. The cloud dipped down, and Thorin realized that this was no cloud. This is a great black dragon. No sooner had he realized this then had the fire engulfed him.

He winced, but the blaring flames didn't burn him like he thought they would. Instead, the world around him completely changed back to the peaceful dwelling it was, but Thorin was being lifted away. Something dug into his chest, and as his vision went white.